


Hopeless Dreamers, Hopeless Types

by prettybirdy979



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Flashbacks, Heaven is Terrible (Good Omens), Historical, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Inspired by Orpheus and Eurydice (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:22:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26558068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettybirdy979/pseuds/prettybirdy979
Summary: It's a gamble. It's a chance. It's nothing more than the desperate last straws Crowley is grasping at.But there is a precedent. Something he can argue. Orpheus walked into Hades and reclaimed his Eurydice, even if it failed in the end. Heaven will, according to Aziraphale, listen to the precedent they helped set. That should be enough to get Aziraphale back from Heaven. Enough to bring him back, alive.(Crowley may have forgotten the walk of faith that he has to do first)
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 80
Collections: WIP Big Bang 2020





	Hopeless Dreamers, Hopeless Types

**Author's Note:**

> So many thanks to PipMer for betaing this! I've been writing it for ah, a while now so it's good to have this out. 
> 
> Art for this can be found [here](https://aaweth-edain.livejournal.com/28823.html)! By the amazing Kay_Drew

_A screech of tires._

_A child's scream._

_A thump._

_'Aziraphale!'_

*

**Rome, 8 AD**

'Remarkable,' Aziraphale says having another oyster. His fiftieth if Crowley's count is right.

How he can eat that much Crowley has no idea but he's… he's _enjoying_ watching the angel eat. He bowed out of this eating lark after a dozen oysters and is uncomfortably full but Aziraphale seems to still be going strong.

'So you said.'

That gets a smile from Aziraphale that makes Crowley's disobedient heart thump. 'So doing anything other than your, ah, temptation while in town?' His tone is slightly embarrassed; the type of tone you have when you know you’re just fishing for something to keep the conversation going.

Flattering, if Crowley does say so himself. Aziraphale has run out of things to talk about but still wants to talk. Crowley’s company is just that good.

Crowley shrugs, the desire to show off warring with a voice screaming _he thinks he's the enemy, he'll stop you_ in his head. 'No plans. Might see if I can do something with those myths going around. Some of them are quite inventive.'

'Oh don't get me started on those myths!' Aziraphale looks cross and a part of Crowley sits up and pays attention. 'The original Greek ones were beautiful and they've… they've _bastardised_ them.'  [1]

'Now angel it's not like that. Humans are inventive and prone to change. Myths change with them.'

Instead of prompting an argument, all that gets is a sigh from Aziraphale. 'I know but I quite liked some of the originals. They were so creative!'

That gets a raised eyebrow. 'And you're allowed to like stories?'

'Of course! I'm allowed to like everything of humanity's.'

'Even blasphemous ones that worship _other gods?_ ' A thread of anger slips into Crowley's voice that he can't keep out. Of course God has double standards - he's known that since Eden and the sword - but really. Surely there are limits?

Aziraphale looks nervous. 'Well I mean some of them aren't… aren't stories. Divinely inspired, you know.'

'I don't know. Your lot do that?'

Biting his lip, Aziraphale nods. 'For the small things. We're being… subtle. So humans tell stories that are actually warnings from God. Standards of behaviour. Precedents. You know. That sort of thing.'

Crowley does huff a laugh at that. 'Should've guessed. That one about, oh what's his name. Orpheus. Gets fucked over because he doesn't have faith in the gods and loses his love. Has your lot written all over it.'

Aziraphale's eyes narrow. 'No, that's not right. Orpheus failed because he didn't have faith in Eurydice; he never needed to doubt the word of the gods.'

Crowley stares at Aziraphale for a long moment. 'Are you seriously arguing that?'

'Yes!'

With a shake of his head, Crowley throws himself into tearing apart the angel's clearly wrong argument. Surely it won't be so hard.

Five hours later they're thrown out of the place and are no closer to an agreement. But that's okay, Crowley has time to convince Aziraphale. 

All the time in the world. 

*

**Tadfield, 2021 AD**

It's been twenty minutes since the tourist's car nearly hit a distracted Warlock and Brian who'd been arguing about witches in the middle of the usually quiet road. Twenty minutes since Aziraphale had seen the danger and thrown himself at it, instead of miracling the children out of the way.

Twenty minutes since the car had hit him instead of the children.

Nineteen minutes since Crowley, drawn by the squeal of the fleeing car and cries of the children, had come across Aziraphale. Eighteen minutes since he'd dragged his angel - and the crying children - into Anathema's cottage and roared at her to help.

Seventeen minutes since it had mattered.

Aziraphale had died, eyes wide with pain, as he clutched at Crowley and now nothing matters. Not the weeping Brian, being tended to by an equally upset Newt. Not Adam or Pepper or Wensley who'd come running into the cottage and were surrounding their friend.

He barely cares about Warlock still clinging to Crowley as Anathema tries to tend to the grazes on his face. Warlock’s hands are as bloody as Crowley's are, from earlier when they'd tried to stop the bleeding.

Now it doesn't matter.

'Can you bring him back?' Warlock asks and Crowley forces himself to pay attention. To look down at the child that just this morning had been an unholy nightmare for him to take professional pride in, but now looks like every devastated child Crowley's seen over the years.

He shakes his head. 'He's been discorporated. Body will fade the moment no one is looking at it because he's… he's… he's not in it anymore.'

'Not dead? Just discorporated? Like he was at the airport?' Anathema is far better informed than Crowley expected. Mademe Tracey has been gossiping.

But no. 'Doesn't matter. He's in Heaven and they'll… they'll never let him back.'

Something _breaks_ in Crowley, something he didn't realise he still had left to break.

'I have to get him back. I have to… to… they'll never let him back I have to save him. I _need_ him, I have to get him back.'

'How?' Adam asks and Crowley looks up at him through his tears. The Antichrist looks _angry_ in a way he hasn't since the world nearly ended.

'I… I don't know.'

'Can you march into Heaven and demand him back?' Warlock offers, letting go of Crowley to reach for Aziraphale. He ends up resting his hand on Aziraphale's chest right by his heart. 'Brother Aziraphale says it's rude but it's what Dad does and I think the assholes who tried to end the world deserve rude.'

Wensley makes an outraged noise. 'You can't just march into Heaven and demand someone be alive again!'

Oh but you _can._

'Orpheus…' Crowley whispers, trying the feel of it in his mouth. It's a familiar argument, one they've had so many times it's settled into comfortable debate for when they're sober enough to want to debate but too drunk to come up with a new topic.

But Aziraphale had only ever argued _why_ Orpheus failed with Crowley, not _if_ he existed. It might be as Aziraphale said all those years ago.

_Precedent_.

'Who?' Brian asks, breaking Crowley out of his thoughts. Brian is still shaking from his near miss but moves closer to them - and Aziraphale's body - even as Newt sputters behind him.

'Orpheus and Eurydice,' Crowley says, distracted. How fast can he get to London and still be in one piece? Would they bother barring the entrance to Heaven to a demon?

'Who?!' Pepper says in the tone of a child who thinks they are being spoken down to or ignored and isn't having it.

'A Greek legend,' Anathema says. 'They married but Eurydice died so Orpheus walked into Hades to get her back.'

Everyone pointedly does not look down. Crowley clenches his hands and does the same.

'Hades? Like Hell?' Wensley asks with a frown.

'But he's an angel!' Warlock protests and a part of Crowley wonders if he should be pleased Warlock is finally able to say that aloud. The rest is trying to figure out speeds he can drive while still making it to London in one piece.

'Won't he be in Heaven?' Newt asks.

Yes he will be and there's far too much time for them to torture Aziraphale before Crowley can possibly make it.

'Hades was both,' Crowley whispers looking at the blood on his hands. 'It was both Heaven and Hell depending on how good a person you'd been. The Greeks had the gods in the sky and the dead underground. None of this dead people with God thing.'

'Good. We can work with both,' Anathema says.

Crowley looks up, blinking. 'What?'

But she's not looking at him, she's looking at Adam.

Who nods. 'How do you get into heaven?' he asks Crowley. 'Is there only one way in?'

Crowley's lost track of this conversation. Absently he tugs Warlock back towards him and starts using his shirt to clean the blood off the child's hands. 

'There's a main entrance in London but there's many ways into Heaven. People have to be able to get in when they die, after all.'

'So like here?' Pepper nods down at Aziraphale as Anathema passes Crowley a wet cloth for the blood on Warlock. 

'What?!' No that's….

Not actually wrong. Humans! So delightfully creative.

'She's right,' Adam says with the certainty of someone who reality listens to. 'Mr Aziraphale just went to Heaven so there's an entrance here.'

If there wasn't one before, there is now.

Adam frowns and looks down. 'I can send you through but I don't think I can bring you back.'

'Your power isn't for Heaven. I'm not surprised,' Crowley says then looks down at Warlock who has been so much happier since Adam talked Aziraphale and Crowley into bringing Warlock to Tadfield for weekly playdates.

Talked them into being actual Godfathers to the child they'd raised, instead of letting the Dowlings and circumstances separate them.

Yes Crowley has just gotten everything he ever wanted. There is no way on this Earth he's letting Heaven take it away from him

'I'm going to get him back,' he says, looking up at Adam. 'Send me through.' He looks down at Warlock again, meeting his eyes.

'Guard him until I get back? I don't know how Heaven will do this and it might be easier if he has a body on Earth.’

Warlock nods frantically. 'We'll guard him with our lives.'

'Hey! Who are you to promise my life?' Pepper protests. 

'My life and anyone else who wants to give theirs,' Warlock corrects. Pepper nods aggressively.

Crowley slowly lets go of Warlock and places a hand on Aziraphale. 

'I'm ready. I'll be back with him.'

Adam nods and closes his eyes.

The world goes bright white.

*

**Heaven, 2021 AD**

Crowley opens his eyes to find himself in a bright white room that looks vaguely familiar.

Heaven. Urgh.

This is not where Crowley ever imagined he would be. Not again. It had stopped being home a long time ago - after the whole swan dive out of the place - and the return visit had been more than enough to re-enforce that Heaven's not changed. 

It's as much a hell as Hell is, just with a better view. 

Adam's aim has been killer; Crowley's in the little antechamber outside Heaven's main theatre room. The last time Crowley was here, he had been Aziraphale and they'd tried to kill him. In that room just over there.

Now what's the odds they're holding Aziraphale in there again?

Very good apparently. Crowley strolls in, trying for casual [3] , and isn't surprised to see Michael looking as imperious as always. Beside her is a disgusted Gabriel who is flanked by a pair of equally disgusted and smug Archangels (Dumb and Dim Crowley decides, not able to remember their actual names [4] .

But Crowley has no eyes for them. 

Instead his focus is on the bound and gagged angel between them.

_Aziraphale._

Aziraphale's eyes are wide and clear, not clouded with pain like they'd been when he'd died. Discorporated. Same thing. The blood that still covers Crowley's hands is nowhere to be seen on his white clothing. 

He's whole and perfect.

And a captive of Heaven.

'What the _fuck_ are you doing here?' Gabriel roars, breaking into Crowley's focus.

'I'm here for Aziraphale,' he says, eyes still on Aziraphale's terrified blue ones. 

That gets a laugh from Gabriel. 'And you think, what? We're just going to give him to you? Hand over a traitor to a _demon_?'

Crowley gets his thoughts together enough to nod. 'Yes.'

His flat answer seems to have taken them all by surprise, judging by the length of time it takes to reply. 'Just like that?' Michael asks, her eyes searing.

'There's… There's precedent.' That thought gets Crowley to stand straighter. 

'Precedent?'

'Orpheus,' Crowley gets out. 'I come as Orpheus to claim my Eurydice.'

Gabriel bursts out laughing, an awful mocking sound that makes Crowley want to claw his face off. Beside him, Aziraphale is staring at Crowley and Crowley can almost imagine there's hope in his eyes.

'Doesn't apply,' Michael says matter of factly. 'This situation is not similar enough for that precedent to apply.' She smiles, a small but smug thing. 'We are in Heaven, not Hell.'

'Hades was both,' Crowley shoots back, finding a touch more life for his voice. They're not fighting the fact it's precedent, only if it applies.

He has a _chance._

'And besides,' he adds, 'this can be Hell. Perspective matters.'

That gets Gabriel to hiss. 'This is _Heaven_ and we are the good guys. As evidenced by the fact we're hearing out this ridiculousness instead of smiting you on the spot.'

Crowley smirks because he _has_ them. He can _do_ this. 'The mind is its own place, and in itself can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven,' he quotes before focusing.

Concentrating. _Imagining_.

For a moment the light darkens and the angelic choruses outside become demonic screams. The smell of blood and fire fills the room and all that can be felt is a vast emptiness. Time does not exist but each moment also seems endless, as pain and misery sit in the darkening air and suffocate anyone that tries to breathe it in.

Heaven as Crowley remembers it being the day he Fell.

He drops the illusion and opens his eyes. Gabriel is pale while Michael looks like he just slapped her. The other two are literally shaking and the bald one looks like they're about to vomit.

Aziraphale is crying, his blue eyes full of the compassion of his that Crowley's loved for his eternity on Earth. And love - so much love that Crowley can taste it.

'It applies,' he whispers kinda weakly, and flinches when he hears his own voice. 

Michael gapes, opens her mouth to speak once. Twice. Three times.

'You are not Orpheus,' she finally gets out. 'The traitor cannot be Eurydice. These situations do not compare.'

That puts a fire in Crowley's veins as he hisses at the insult. How _dare_ she not use Aziraphale's name? 

'I am a Demon in Heaven,' he says, trying to keep the rage from his voice. 'I have come here uninvited where demons may not come.'

'And a child of the gods?'

'I thought we all were the children of God?' That gets four dumbfounded looks and an eye roll from Aziraphale. Although Crowley can see a movement in his cheek that might be a smile. A year ago he wouldn't have gotten the reference but even his angel's stubbornly early 20th century time freeze had been no match for four determined children and an argumentative Antichrist who couldn't comprehend _anyone_ not having seen the entirety of Disney's film library. [5]

'A demon would lay claim to being of God?' Dim says, nose curling as they look at Crowley with disgust.

That gets Crowley to frown. 'Aren't we all? That's Her whole thing, in the beginning there was nothing and then. She created everything.'

'You have faith in the Lord?' Gabriel sneers. 'A demon with _faith_?'

'Wa wa wwha... Did I say that?' Crowley draws himself up a little. 'I don't have faith in _Her_. Whole thing you know. Faithless. Demon.'

'Then..?'

'Just because I have no faith in Her, think She's an awful parent with issues, doesn't mean I don't believe She exists and created me. Which you know. Makes Her a parent. That's how it goes.'

Michael's eyebrows are raised so high they're about to take off and Gabriel looks like he swallowed a lemon, his lips are that pinched. Even dumb and dim look like they've managed a thought of confusion between them.

'Moving on,' Michael says finally and Crowley crows inwardly. Point to him. 'This traitor is not Eurydice.'

'Of course he is,' Crowley says, dumbfounded. 'What else could he be to me?'

Gabriel's smile is vicious. 'Demons aren't capable of love.'

Aziraphale looks outraged at that, muffled noises of protest coming through his gag. Dumb kicks him and they stop.

Crowley hisses, his fangs dripping with venom. 'Even if that were true, it doesn't matter. Eurydice was Orpheus' wife. Blessed before the gods.'

'And?' Gabriel says with a tiny and irritating jerk of his head.

Crowley flashes his left hand, where the angel wing ring Aziraphale placed there still sits. His matching snake ring curls around Aziraphale's ring finger and flashes gold in response. 'Sworn before God.' 

He pauses then adds, 'Or at least sworn before someone ordained in Her name but it's been much the same thing for all of human history, so I think that precedent stands.'

If Crowley had breathed fire at them again he couldn't have made them make the faces they're making now. A devilish part of him yearns to take some sort of photo but no. It'll ruin the moment.

'You _dared_ ,' Gabriel breathes, almost snarling as he takes a half step towards Crowley.

Crowley who raises his head and stares him down. 'Tell me the Law that prevents it. Show me the Word that forbids it.'

'It is not for angels. Marriage is a mortal thing. For Earth.'

'And we are of Earth. We stood before our sides and declared our new allegiance to Earth. We took our punishments and were spared, new powers granted with our switch. Who are you to deny us the sacraments of our own side?'

If someone was watching Aziraphale they might've noticed his small flinch when Crowley said 'switch'. But everyone's attention is too focused on the demon in the room to realise he might be given away by his angel.

'The rules-'

Crowley rolls his eyes. 'Don't try and rules lawyer me Gabriel. I've been doing it for six thousand years and I've been amongst _humans_ . There is no level of creative rules lawyering quite like a human wanting out of a deal. I've held my own with them all that time - you _don't stand a chance_.'

He turns to look at Michael who is clearly the judge in this mockery of a trial. 'I come before you with the precedent of Orpheus and Eurydice to request… _beg_ for my angel. Just as Orpheus, I, the creation of a God, come with aid to where I am not welcome and beg for the return for that which I wed before God.' 

Swallowing he adds, 'I live in eternal agony without him, enough to make the world weep with me if they but had a taste of it.' It hurts to say this but he has to - if this doesn't work it is his last chance to say it where Aziraphale can hear it. 

In fact the words he needs to say are sitting on his chest and he cannot let them go unsaid. They spill out of him unasked for but Crowley will never regret anything he says to his angel.

'You are my everything. My only constant in eternity, the being I have loved since you stood beside me on the walls of Eden more interested in showing kindness and compassion than judgement. Without you I am but one half of a soul and I cannot bear to exist in a world where I do not try to get back that which was robbed from me.

'I want to stand beside you until kingdom come and beyond.' Crowley cuts off the words he couldn't stop himself saying and looks away from the crying Aziraphale to the Archangels. 'I… I... I _beg_ you to return him so I may keep those vows I swore before God.'

There is silence. An endless, ringing silence.

'Do you swear you speak truthfully?' Michael finally asks, her eyes narrowed and hand raised.

'I do,' Crowley says as solemnly as he said his wedding vows.

Far off a bell rings, echoing through the room.

All the Archangels flinch. 

' _How?'_ Gabriel hisses. 'How the _fuck_ is that thing able to love?'

Michael looks sick. 'You have spoken truthfully.' Crowley would've rolled his eyes if he wasn't sure that would cause offence and right now he is trying to avoid that. 

'The precedent is absolute,' Michael continues and something like hope begins to burn in Crowley's heart. 'You have begged for your-' she closes her mouth and makes a face of absolute disgust '-your spouse's life and spoken words of music such that the bells toll with truth. By the laws you invoke we must let him leave with you.’

'Yes!'

'-and you shall keep him with you if you can keep faith that he shall follow you out.'

Oh _fuck_. Crowley knew he was forgetting something.

Gabriel bursts out laughing. 'Faith! A demon has to do a walk of faith! Oh this is too good.'

‘You know the rules as written in the precedent of Orpheus and Eurydice?’ Michael asks, tone disinterested but Crowley’s had a lot of experience at reading smug bastards who think they’ve just got someone but can’t show it. Her smugness could be read by him from _space_ she’s projecting it so hard.

Crowley bites his lip and nods.

Michael, the smug bastard, takes it as a no. ‘You are permitted to take the angel from Heaven but until the light of Earth hits him, he is not of that world. You must walk out of Heaven and not look back, trusting that he follows. If you do turn he will return to us here, never to see the light of Earth again.’

‘I _got it_ ,’ Crowley growls. Then a thought strikes him and he asks, ‘Can I speak?’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘While I’m walking? Can I speak? You gotta establish all the rules first, before you do something crazy else you might walk into one by mistake and Heaven’s good at the whole hidden rules thing.’ _Got me thrown out_ , Crowley thinks but doesn’t quite give voice to. Those kinds of thoughts aren’t for Heaven; they are to yell at God and whisper to Aziraphale.

Michael looks down at him like he’s the worst kind of dirt under her feet but she nods. ‘The angel may not speak for speech is only for those with bodies but you are welcome to talk.’

Crowley still wants to sink his fangs into her, wants to claw her face into pieces until she feels a tiny bit of the awful things she’s doing to Aziraphale but he resists. Instead he just nods and holds his head high.

‘I love you,’ he says to Aziraphale, looking him in his bright blue eyes. ‘I’ll see you on the other side of this.’

Crowley turns around.

And walks out of the room - out of _Heaven_.

And into a memory.

*

**Soho 2019 AD**

_‘I’m going home angel. I’m getting my stuff. And I’m leaving!’_

Crowley blinks as he hears his own voice shouting, looking up to see himself standing behind his car. 

What the H-

_‘And when I’m off in the stars, I, I won’t even think about you!’_

Oh. Crowley remembers this. The last time Aziraphale rejected him before Armageddon. The moment that it really sunk in for Crowley that he might actually have to make a choice between saving his own life and staying with Aziraphale - that there was the possibility that there was a choice to be made between them.

The Bentley peels out of the street with a squeal of tyres. Crowley watches it go, careful to not turn his head more than a few inches, lest he accidentally look back.

Beside him, a human speaks and he turns to look at him. _‘I’ve been there. You’re better off without him._ ’

Wait, what? Who is this human talking to? Whose perspective is-

*

Crowley blinks and finds himself standing still in a white corridor. 

A seemingly endless white corridor, with the only light coming from a far off doorway at what is logical to assume is the end of it.

‘Okay then. Heaven’s either making this ridiculously easy for us or they’ve got something else up their sleeve.’

Crowley leaves a pause, a moment to imagine Aziraphale’s pinched face that says ‘ _Really Crowley_ ’ as well as his words ever could before continuing.

‘Did you get to see the trip down memory lane? Good try on their behalf but that’s hardly going to make me look at you.’

_Might have the opposite effect_ , hangs in the air but goes unspoken. 

Crowley shakes his head and takes a step forward. Then another. And another.

Soon he’s walked a dozen. Two dozen. More.

The end of the corridor is no closer.

‘Well this might be a problem.’

Crowley takes a few steps. And a few more. 

Then he takes another step and the world goes white.

*

**Sussex England, 1066 AD**

Crowley blinks.

He's standing on a hill, watching the building of a wooden castle by the invading armies of the Normans.

What? Where… where did Heaven go?

He's still watching the castle, watching the army scramble to put it together. 

Is this a dream? A dream he's having while walking out of Heaven…

But there's something _off_ about this scene. Something not right… 

He remembers being here but not… not at first. He’d been with the _Normans_ and slunk up the hill to say hello to the angel once he spotted him as per their new Arrangement, not standing here watching the Normans-

‘Aziraphale!’ Crowley hears his own voice call from behind and he nearly turns to face it. Fortunately his muscles don’t seem to want to turn and the desire dies with a flash of panic.

Do not look back.

‘Aziraphale!’ Crowley - but not him, he’s not said _anything_ \- says and Crowley finds himself glancing to his side to see, yes, himself as he’d been in the Norman camp. ‘Fancy seeing you here.’

‘I have orders,’ _Aziraphale_ says but it's his own mouth that Crowley feels moving. 

Oh _fuck_. Is this Heaven's play? Is this their attempt to make Crowley cave? Relive every moment they can make him relive but seeing himself as Aziraphale did?

Great. As if this wasn’t fun enough already.

‘I came to see what Hell’s invaders look like this time,' Aziraphale continues and Crowley winces at the tone of Aziraphale's voice. Just as he remembers. It still stings, just as it had then. They’d been getting _close_ damn it, after Aziraphale had finally relaxed enough to formalise their Arrangement.

And then this… this _venom_ in his angel’s voice. This attack...

Crowley sees his past self deflate a little. Did… he really look so defeated back then? ‘Oh. So your lot are backing Harold then?’

Aziraphale shakes his head and internally Crowley grimaces at the feeling of his head moving without input from him. ‘Reserving judgement. They don’t particularly care which of these humans are leading so long as they worship the Lord while they do it.’ Aziraphale pauses and there’s the same change in his tone that Crowley remembers thinking he imagined back then. ‘Gabriel is leaning towards backing the Normans.’

He sounds vaguely defeated. Upset.

Just like Crowley thought he’d imagined.

‘So you’re not to interfere at all?’ Crowley can hear the delight in his voice and now, objectively, realises that it might’ve been the wrong tone to take. He remembers being delighted that Aziraphale wasn’t here to interfere because it meant he’d not backed out of the Arrangement but listening… listening it just sounds like his past self is delighted Aziraphale isn’t here to interfere. 

Aziraphale nods, a feeling Crowley’s never going to be used to enduring. ‘Even with direct evidence Hell’s interfering themselves. Heaven needs me to remain neutral, to better set myself up for what comes next.’ Crowley feels himself gesture behind himself, to the villages he knows are there. ‘Even if these people _suffer_ , I’m not to interfere.’

‘And if I were to be… planning something?’ Crowley remembers that note of temptation in his voice and knows his past self is already coming up with a list of ideas to present to Aziraphale, to allow him whatever action he wants to take as per the Arrangement.

Poor fool can’t read the mood apparently.

Crowley remembers the glare Aziraphale turned on him then, even if he’s not in a position to see it now. ‘Planned something more than this? The people of this country have been fighting non-stop over this succession, why can’t you just leave them alone?’

‘Aziraphale,’ Past Crowley says gently, ‘humans die every day for some damned succession. That’s the way of humanity.’

‘Because of _you,’_ Aziraphale snaps and this time Crowley gets to see how his past self's face crumbles at the words. 

‘I-’ _I only ever gave her a choice_ , Past Crowley was going to say and Crowley wishes he’d gotten it out.

But Aziraphale wasn’t - _isn’t_ \- in a place to hear it. ‘Oh just go. Go back to your murderers.’

Crowley watches his past self slink off, heart _aching_ for him. 

Next month that past self is going to be halfway to drunk in a pub nearby when Aziraphale finds him, having followed him north. They'll make awkward conversation until Aziraphale apologises for taking his grief out on Crowley and offers to buy him a drink to make up for it.

Ten drinks later a much drunker Aziraphale will _explain_ that apology and admit the Normans had killed a family that had been sheltering Aziraphale, a family he’d come to care for in spite of himself. He'll tell Crowley all about them and, more importantly, about their killers.

And Crowley… well Crowley will later call it a freebie, for the Arrangement. Just to get a feel for it, you know.

But that’s next month.

For now, Crowley gets to watch his past self walk off out of the corner of his eye.

_You poor bastard._

Something wet runs down his cheek, then another. And another. 

The world fades to white accompanied by the sound of Aziraphale weeping.

*

_'Fuck ,'_ Crowley swears as he opens his eyes to the long corridor in Heaven. He's still standing but his knees are a little shaky. 

'Well that was fun,' he tells the silent Aziraphale. 'Heaven has definitely decided this walk gets to double as a trip down memory lane and wahoo for me they're using your memories to do it.'

He imagines Aziraphale's most outraged face and smiles. 'Yeah Angel, I agree. How dare they?'

For a moment he dares to daydream about turning - about _seeing_ Aziraphale - but no. Crowley’s known six _thousand_ years of restraint. He can manage however long this walk is.

‘Come on Aziraphale,’ he says as he takes as deep a breath as he can while clenching his fists. ‘Your turn to follow me.’

His first few steps are stumbles more than actual walking but they get him moving in the right direction and as he doesn’t actually fall down, Crowley counts it as a win. There’s not been a lot of wins lately, he’s going to take every one he can get. 

Another five steps.

Ten.

Twenty.

Crowley actually manages to get to fifty steps before he feels a tug in his chest and his vision fades to white.

*

**Egypt, 1991 BC**

Crowley blinks into past Aziraphale standing beside a gate that’s seeing very heavy use, a stream of people walking out into a desert. A familiar desert but that’s not actually saying much - Crowley’s been on Earth so long he’s seen most of the important ones (and a few of the not so important ones) and with that in mind most of them should look familiar. 

The clothing that the people wandering into the desert are wearing is old though, made in ways Crowley’s not seen done for -

Hang on. Wandering into the desert. A whole stream of people, like an exodus.

A mass Exodus into the desert.

_Fuck_.

‘She get what She wanted then?’ he hears his past self say and Crowley doesn’t need Aziraphale to look left to know his past self has slid up to his side.

The bitterness in his past self’s voice still sits on his tongue.

As Crowley remembers, Aziraphale seems disconcerted, looking his past self up and down. ‘The Pharaoh has let Moses and his people go. They’re walking towards the Red Sea now.’

Both of them fall silent as a pair of guards drop their weapons and start to follow the slaves they’d been in charge of only hours earlier. 

‘...with a few extra,’ Aziraphale says, fidgeting with his sleeves. 

‘Don’t blame them,’ past Crowley grumbles. ‘With what She’s done here, I wouldn’t be surprised if the lot of them want to abandon the place.’ Aziraphale is looking away from past Crowley, watching the last of the Israelites leave Egypt. 

But present Crowley remembers eyeing up his very nervous angel back then, lingering on the way Aziraphale isn’t meeting his eyes and is still fiddling with his sleeves. ‘Atmosphere in the place isn’t great right now, what with all the weeping mothers and wailing fathers.’

‘Ah yes… well,’ Aziraphale bites at his lip and Crowley hisses internally at the feel of it. A part of him absently wishes he’d possessed someone before, if only so he’d be used to this feeling of moving without commanding it.

‘Well, Moses did warn the Pharaoh about what was to happen. Repeatedly,’ he says in a wavering voice. ‘The Lord knew this was the only way he would listen but She had to try the others first. Ineff-’

‘ _Don’t_ ,’ past Crowley snaps, grabbing Aziraphale’s arm and forcing him to look past Crowley in the eye. ‘Don’t you _dare_ say this is ineffable; not with Her bloody angels being the ones hardening the Pharaoh’s heart after every plague.’

‘She wouldn’t!’

‘She _did_ ,’ past Crowley growls and Crowley feels the grip on his - no _Aziraphale’s_ arm tighten to the point of pain. But aside from shifting his arm slightly, Aziraphale doesn’t give any sign of the pain.

‘I saw that git Gabriel and two of his hench angels trying to lurk around the palace. Went in to speak to the Pharaoh just after I got him wavering after nine whole times Moses was one hundred percent right, and what do you know, next thing he’s not budging on the Israelites leaving Egypt thing. Again.’

Aziraphale snorts. 'Heaven wouldn't do that.' But this time Crowley can hear a waver in his voice, a note that he does not remember hearing before. It is buried under righteousness and that holier than thou tone Aziraphale hasn't quite lost yet, but present Crowley, with a thousand times more experience picking out notes in his angel's voice than the poor bastard to his left, can hear it.

Can realise that maybe, just maybe, the angel _believed_ Crowley.

‘It would and you know it,’ past Crowley growls and Crowley gets to feel Aziraphale puffing up which is a fun experience from the inside.

‘They _would not_ ,’ Aziraphale growls right back and the poor bastard to the left hisses, the pain of being too close to a righteously pissed off angel making him grit his teeth. Crowley flinches at the memory of that sting.

‘When you’re done lying to yourself _Angel_ , I’ll be with the Israelites. I’m sure I can tempt a few of them to something. Doubt there’s a lot of faith around, not after watching their neighbours die for the crime of not being the right type of slave.’

‘You _serpent!_ ’ Aziraphale shouts at past Crowley’s retreating back. ‘You lying, wicked, awful serpent! You… you… you _can’t_ be right, I know you can’t be.’ He sniffs and Crowley is filled with the desire to hold him tightly. Even as he wants to shout some sense into the angel because he’d forgotten how much Aziraphale had bought into Heaven’s bullshit in the beginning.

‘Oh Lord,’ Aziraphale says looking up. ‘Please show me he is lying.’

Nothing happens, because of course it doesn’t. Crowley’s heart aches for an angel that hasn’t figured that out yet… though, if he thinks about it… Aziraphale did still believe right up until he was discorporated that God might actually intervene. That She was still listening and working, instead of being the cold voyeur Crowley knows Her to be.

Something tightens in his chest as Aziraphale, unanswered by God, starts to follow past Crowley into the desert. His vision fades to white before Crowley can figure out what’s changed.

*

Crowley doesn’t swear this time when the white room appears around him but he also doesn’t stay on his feet. He drops to his knees, breathing heavily. 

‘I’m okay,’ he says, forcing himself back to his feet. Each memory feels like a hammer to his chest, making it harder to breathe. He might not need to breathe but it’s such a habit by now that the shortness only makes his chest tighter. 

‘I’m okay,’ he lies.

For a moment he is filled with the desire, the overwhelming _need_ to turn around and look at Aziraphale. To see his love’s face and be comforted by him.

NO.

He can’t. He shakes his head, hoping to clear the desire away. It doesn’t work, but he gets enough focus to get to his feet, to start walking. The quicker he walks, the quicker he reaches that distant door, and the quicker he gets out of here.

‘Is that any closer do you think?’ he asks, pausing for Aziraphale to answer. 

_How should I know? You’re in front of me!_ he imagines Aziraphale saying, with that little twitch of his nose he has when he’s being annoying. 

‘You’ve the better vision, you tell me!’

And he can almost hear Aziraphale’s snort, can just about feel his eyes rolling. _Like you’ve ever let that stop you_ , Aziraphale would say in his fond tone. _You notice more than me_.

Crowley gulps, ignoring the rising heat on his cheeks. It’s his _own_ imagination, how is it making him blush?

‘We can do this,’ he says once the heat goes down. ‘We can do this.’

‘We can-’

*

**London, 2019**

The moment Crowley sees the bandstand, feels the tension in Aziraphale’s body he _knows_.

If he could, he would be on his knees already.

‘Big universe,’ he hears himself say and oh goodie, Heaven’s skipping to the good part. None of the build up, all of the fight. Joy. ‘Even if this ends up in a puddle of burning goo we could go off together.’

Crowley can see the desperation in his past self’s eyes. He can feel the panic in his chest, the memory as strong as the real deal had been and all he wants is to whisper to that past self that it will work out, it will be okay.

Huh. Being nice to himself. Aziraphale would be proud.

No. Aziraphale _will_ be proud.

‘Go off together?’ Aziraphale says, and Crowley can feel the way he’s clenching his fists. ‘Listen to yourself!’

‘How long have we been friends? Six thousand years?’

Crowley braces himself for the knife about to be plunged into his chest. 

‘Friends? We aren’t friends. We are an angel and a demon. We have nothing whatsoever in common. I don’t even _like_ you.’

Yeah, hurts just as much hearing it a second time. Time might have softened Crowley’s memory of this moment but it still _hurts_ , no matter that Aziraphale has apologised more times than Crowley can count for every single word he said. 

Something’s different though, reliving it from this perspective.

Now Crowley can feel the burn of tears in Aziraphale’s eyes, has a chest that is so tight he’s not even sure Aziraphale is actually breathing. 

It almost feels like by lying, Aziraphale has put a knife in his own chest too.

‘You doooo,’ his past self wheezes out and Crowley tries to drown out the rest of the argument by singing Queen in his head. He knows how this goes, he doesn’t need to hear it again.

It’s somewhat successful, bar the flinch he gets when Aziraphale throws their side back in his face. They _are_ on their own side now, this shouldn’t hurt. He doesn’t need to feel this, he has to walk out of Heaven.

Their fight ends, Crowley’s past self as broken looking as he remembers feeling. Over then. Time for white. Watching his past self storm off he waits for this torture to _end_.

Then Aziraphale starts to sob.

It’s clear he’s trying to muffle the noises but it is sobbing nonetheless. Hot tears run down Crowley’s face and he wishes for a moment he could wipe them away, yearns to turn around and comfort-

No. 

_NO_.

‘I will keep you safe,’ Aziraphale says and it takes Crowley a moment to realise he’s talking to Crowley’s long gone past self. ‘Even from yourself. I… I just have to get Heaven to understand and they’ll call the thing off and you’ll be _safe_.’

He puts his hand on his heart as Crowley’s world starts to fade to white. ‘I can live with you hating me if you’re alive to do it,’ he says, before walking after past Crowley.

The world fades out.

*

‘The bandstand,’ he says as the white fades in, barely noting he has actually fallen to his knees. ‘They picked the bandstand.’

Nothing from behind him, but that’s to be expected. If he’s there, Aziraphale can’t talk. Can’t say a word to try and defend himself - not that he has, in all the time since that moment at the bandstand. 

In fact he’s spent evenings just trying to make up for it, to replace the memory of his denial with words of love that seep into Crowley’s bones.

‘Bastards just played the worst moments,’ Crowley finally breathes, ‘the ones that hurt you as much to say as it hurt me to hear.’

_Oh my darling_ , he imagines Aziraphale saying, one hand held out as if to touch him. _I never should have tried to hurt you like that_.

And he _aches_ to turn around, to see the love in Aziraphale’s eyes, to feel the weight of Aziraphale’s palm on his cheek as he wipes each tear away before planting a soft kiss to his face. Crowley _burns_ with yearning and all he has to do is tur-

‘NO!’ he growls and stands up. ‘No I won’t. You can’t break me!’ 

He looks to the ceiling. ‘Hear that you bastards? You can’t break me! I’m going to walk out of here with Aziraphale, with _my_ angel and you’re never going to bother us again. He’s _mine_ and I’m _his_ and I BELIEVE in him!’

The world fades to white.

*

**London, 2019**

St James Park.

Crowley blinks as he tries to place the moment, tries to focus on what’s happening around him. This feels off somehow, familiar in a way that all the other memories have lacked. 

Like something hasn’t changed.

Then he sees Death in front of him.

‘Oh, that’s, that’s bad luck,’ he hears his voice say.

But he feels his lips move.

Feels _Aziraphale’s_ lips move.

Wait.

What?

No.

What?

How?

_What?_

Aziraphale turns.

Crowley’s blood goes cold, something sinking in his stomach as his heart is clawed out by the sight in front of him.

It’s _Aziraphale_ , bound and gagged, being dragged away from him by Heaven. His eyes are wide and panicked and Crowley can hear his muffled noises as the angels that have him drag him away.

Two of them stand in front of him, saying something that doesn’t register, focused as Crowley is on the sight behind them. On the angels taking _his_ angel.

Heaven is taking Aziraphale.

The angels have Aziraphale.

He feels his lips move, feels himself protest but the words may as well be white noise for all that they register. Instead he sprints after Aziraphale.

Or tries to. His legs aren’t working like they should, aren’t responding to him like they’re _his_ legs, instead staying in one place for far too long. Finally he moves, throwing something he’d been holding as he chases after Aziraphale.

He feels his lips moving but that is meaningless, he has to get to Azirapha-

Pain.

Blinding pain as something strikes the back of his head and he can _see_ in his memory the sight of Haster standing above him with a lead pipe as he is dragged awa-

Wait.

What? 

No. Aziraphale. Focus on Aziraphale.

_Turn around_.

The world fades to white

*

‘Aziraphale!’ he screams, his voice echoing in the blankness around him. ‘Aziraphale!’ 

Where _is_ he? He was just there! Just in front of Crowley being dragged away and all Crowley has to do is reach out and _find_ him.

Crowley starts to sprint forward, his heart pounding. Aziraphale was just there, _just there_ , he has to find him, has to reach him and then he can save him like he’s always done and it’ll be fine and perfect and Heaven won’t have their hands on him-

_Turn around_ , he hears, a whisper in his head and he stops dead. 

‘What?’

_He’s behind you, turn around_.

Yes, yes that’s right. Aziraphale is behind him, following him. He can just turn around and see him, check he’s still there and it’ll be fine.

He’s halfway through the turn when he catches sight of a glint on his left hand. His ring, glittering in unnatural light.

‘Where am I?’ he says aloud as he pauses to look at that ring. ‘Aziraphale-’

This is Heaven isn’t it. He’s in Heaven and he’s about to turn around to look at Aziraphal-

_Like Orpheus._

‘Fuck!’ he cries and snaps his head forward. Oh Lord please don’t have that count. He didn’t look, he didn’t see, that couldn’t count. They’re still okay, Crowley just has to finish his walk - has to make it to that door he can actually _see_ right now, big and brown and _safe_.

But…

But…

But what if it _did_ count? What if Aziraphale isn’t following anymore? What if what if what if-

‘I have never had much sympathy for Orpheus until now,’ Crowley growls. ‘How did he not look back sooner?’

‘I turned halfway. I know Heaven, I know your Lord and God Aziraphale. She’s the jealous type and Heaven’s the kind of place that’ll punish a small slip up.’ Crowley brings out his wings, flexing them behind him. ‘I’m very aware of that.’ He feels a tightness in his throat, a rock on his chest at the thought he’s let Aziraphale go.

But - ‘But if it didn’t count, if I didn’t turn, then turning would ruin it. Looking at you would doom you forever.’

Crowley lets himself fall down, blinking away the hot tears in his eyes. ‘I won’t leave here without you but I’m a _demon_ Aziraphale. How do I have faith in Heaven to let you go?’

Whiteness.

*

**Soho, 2020**

Crowley blinks, surprised to be back in the bookshop with suddenly dry eyes which focus on one of the books on Aziraphale’s desk. A book from Adam - so this is recent the-

‘Crowley!’ Aziraphale says, the brightness in his voice lighting something deep in Crowley. Aziraphale turns, letting Crowley see himself in a white tux coming down the stairs.

Oh. A white tux.

His _wedding_ tux.

‘Aziraphale,’ past Crowley says, beaming. He’s not wearing his glasses and his eyes are fully yellow. Just the way Aziraphale likes them. ‘Black suits you.’

‘And white is certainly a good look for you my dear,’ Aziraphale says holding out his hand. ‘Shall we? The Boom account is all set up and everyone’s on, waiting for us.’

‘It’s Zoom angel, _Zoom_ ,’ past Crowley growls and Crowley can feel how Aziraphale smirks, even if past Crowley’s angle stops him seeing it. ‘And yes, I… I’m ready.’

Aziraphale pulls past Crowley into his arms, giving Crowley a sudden understanding of what it feels like to hold himself. 

‘Oh my dear,’ Aziraphale says, ‘I love you so much.’

‘Enough to marry me digitally?’

Aziraphale pulls back, so they’re looking at past Crowley’s face. ‘There is nothing I wouldn’t do for you.’

‘Even if this goes… badly?’ Crowley remembers the feeling of the fear on his past self’s face, the soul deep conviction that his selfishness might make his angel fall.

He remembers the look on Aziraphale’s face, even if he can’t see it now, and how it had lit every inch of him up. ‘If it goes badly at least I will have you by my side. I would rather live a moment with you than an eternity without you.’

‘Aziraphale-’

‘For only one of those is living, for me now,’ Aziraphale finishes and kisses past Crowley.

They kiss for a long time and well. Crowley sinks into the warm memory of this kiss even if he tries to block out the actual moment right now. Kissing himself is _weird_.

‘Thought you’re supposed to save the vows for the ceremony,’ past Crowley finally says in a dazed voice when they break apart. ‘Not use them up before it.’

‘I’ve a thousand vows I will make,’ Aziraphale says and Crowley can feel his smirk, ‘I think I can spare a few for now.’

Crowley knows where this is headed and is glad when the world fades back to white.

*

‘That was a good memory,’ Crowley says the instant the door appears amongst all the white, then snorts at the understatement. A good memory? Try one of the best he’s ever lived through.

The best really.

‘You swore you’d be by my side,’ he says, talking to Aziraphale… or thin air.

Despair claws at him, sunk deep in his belly. He knows the feeling well, though this time it lacks the smoky air of a burning bookshop. A burning haven.

But…

Crowley looks at his ring. ‘A walk of faith,’ he whispers, his eyes lingering on the blue stone he insisted it needed, to match the yellow one in Aziraphale’s ring that Aziraphale had refused to go without.

He looks up at the door and bites at his lip. ‘I’ve not had faith in the Lord for over six thousand years. I am a _demon_ , faith in Her is not something I’m capable of.’

Lifting his hand feels like lifting a thousand pound weight, but Crowley manages it. He holds it out in front of him, so his wedding ring glitters in the light from the door. ‘But I don’t need faith in Her, do I?’

He rises to one knee. ‘I’ve not needed faith in anyone else for all that time. I have followed an angel since the day he gave his sword away to be kind and he’s followed _me_. To Hell and back.’

With a groan, Crowley gets the other leg under himself so he’s squatting. ‘I have had doubt. I have had questions - wouldn’t be me if I didn’t. But he _swore_ he couldn’t live without me and I _believe_ him.’

Crowley cries out as he finally stands straight. It hurts but with the good kind of pain, the burn after a workout or a sprint for your life that you’ve just won. He’s standing and only a few steps from the door.

‘I understand now, Aziraphale,’ he says before looking up at the ceiling. ‘I understand what he was arguing. I don’t need to have faith in you or in them to let him go - I just have to believe he’ll follow me anywhere. And.. and in that, I have faith.’

‘I have faith in _him_ ,’ Crowley roars and runs for the door. ‘Faith in _us_ and our own side.’

Five steps away. He is so close but now his steps are like walking through mud, despite the speed of his sprint. Foot out. Five steps to go.

Four steps.

‘I know him. He’ll follow me.’

Three steps.

‘I can’t feel his love but I know it’s there. I’ve walked a walk of faith, waiting for him since the day we met, what’s one more?’

Two steps.

‘I love him.’

One step.

‘I love _you_ Aziraphale-’

The world goes white.

*

**Tadfield, 2021**

‘Nanny!’ Warlock cries and Crowley blinks.

‘What?’ 

It’s then Warlock all but tackles him as the other children surround him. 

‘I swear we didn’t look away,’ Warlock says into his chest and oh, he’s crying. ‘But but-’

‘His body’s gone,’ Anathema says coming up towards them and oh, apparently the rock in Crowley’s stomach can sink further down. ‘We-’

She stops, her eyes wide as she looks behind Crowley. The children freeze too and-

‘ _Crowley_ ,’ Aziraphale says from behind him.

_Aziraphale_ says.

‘He’s there?’ Crowley asks Anathema who nods. ‘Solid and real?’

‘Yes,’ she says.

But Crowley can’t turn around. He can’t. What if it’s a lie?

Then a solid weight crashes into his back and the smell of Aziraphale’s cologne fills his nose. ‘My dear,’ Aziraphale says with a soft kiss to the side of Crowley’s neck. ‘My dear, I’m here.’

Crowley turns and throws himself at Aziraphale who is whole and present, who has walked behind him as he believed he would. There’s no blood on his clothes, no sign of what he’s been through.

No sign he has been snatched from the jaws of Death by Crowley's faith.

'Aziraphale don't you dare ever do that again,' Crowley says in between planting desperate kisses to any part of Aziraphale he can reach. ‘Don’t you _dare_.’

‘Oh my darling.’ Aziraphale grabs Crowley’s left hand and brings it up to his mouth, kissing Crowley’s wedding ring. ‘I swear on us, I won’t.'

‘I have faith you won’t,’ Crowley says and cuts off any mockery from Aziraphale by kissing him senseless until the children complain [6] .

* * *

**FOOTNOTES:**

  1. This opinion would change once Aziraphale realised having two versions didn't make the first one less real. After that he would eagerly collect all versions of a story. [2]  [ ▲ ]
  2. Aziraphale would be an avid member of AO3 if he could figure out the internet. As it is, he collects derived works which are like fan fiction but official.[ ▲ ]
  3. And failing. [ ▲ ]
  4. Crowley knows their names are Uriel and Sandalphon and would be able to make an educated guess as to who is who but he remembers all the things Aziraphale has told him about them and he can't quite bring himself to do them the courtesy of their names.[ ▲ ]
  5. Aziraphale had called the film in question charming, although he'd spent most of Hellfire hissing curses at Judge Frollo to the amusement of the children.[ ▲ ]
  6. Which takes about fifteen minutes longer than usual. [7][ ▲ ]
  7. The usual time being thirty seconds so a significant increase.[ ▲ ]




End file.
